In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. Just because she was sorry for that young fool! "Uh-huh," he repeated, rising and bowing as he passed Ruth's table. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold.
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